Pretty Please
by wowsugarpuss
Summary: Logan doesn't owe Veronica anything. AU from S1.


She stands in front of him like he owes her a conversation – like he owes her anything at all. He can't speak, so he just shakes his head. Scoffing in the physical at her wide eyes and open hands. She's the very epitome of jump-the-gun and he doesn't really feel like having that gun pointed at him anymore – he would tell her as much if he thought that she would listen. But Veronica Mars does the talking, wears the pants, holds the cards, she's not up for compromise or acceptance and in the end he doesn't care that much. There are worse things in the world than not being with Veronica. He could be throwing himself at her feet and begging for a second chance – so he's grateful for that tiny amount of pride if not the ex-girlfriend with sand between her toes and meanings between every line she says.

They are all rehearsed. He's good at spotting that, he's been fed 'lines' his whole life.

Lilly was too spontaneous to rehearse things with him, at least that's what he had thought but really every time she was with him it was just a rehearsal for someone else. He was just warming her up for someone else's bed. Her spontaneity got her killed and following that line of thought Veronica will be here forever. Watching him with eyes that hold emotions they have no right to. He's seen her act – she's good at it. Doesn't mean he wants to indulge in any suspension of disbelief for her.

She is twisting her toe in the sand, biting her lip and despite himself he wants to bite it for her – even if he's just playing. Waiting for the right moment to throw it all back in her face, be the one that hurts _her_, again. But he can't. He doesn't have the energy to play Veronica Mars because she would play him right back and somewhere along the line, he'd be the one to fall for _her_, again. And wouldn't _that_ be fun.

His hands reach into his hair as she calls him back and he personifies: _La! La! Lalala!_ Denial may not be his forte but he has absolutely no problems with avoidance – sadly she thrives on confrontation now and he wants her hand off his arm as quickly as possible, tiny fingers curling around skin and muscle and bone that don't want to be touched by anyone. He needs her out of his face.

If Veronica was ever going to start a) mind reading and b) respecting people's wishes (which of the two he doubts more) then he pleads to _whatever_ that it would be right now and that she would take three steps back and then fuck off for now.

She doesn't. Damn.

He swallows – damp sea air rubbing the inside of his mouth raw, it feels like it is bleeding. He lets a heavy gaze fall on her, and she looks away. It is that simple as he pulls his arm out from her hand, she hates him. He smiles caustically – it's just not that easy to pretend that a warm hand makes everything okay, he wishes that it was.

"I'm sorry."

Her and her fucking script.

"I guess everything's right with the world then," he rasps. Anger is an effective silencer.

She wants him to kiss her, but he's not going to. Instead he sighs like he is crying, unable to control the tightness in his chest – her hand is automatic and he doesn't think much more as he jerks away from her touch. This is not how he wanted it to end, but that's tough, you never get what you want. He's learned that over and over and over.

You don't get a mommy, you don't get a daddy, you don't get a girlfriend or a best friend or really any friend. They all leave you in their own way. They ignore you, beat you, cheat, leave, lie and tattle. Veronica Mars was supposed to be different, but he finds it almost validating that beneath it all she's still human too, and that means she's going to hurt him.

So he leaves her first, standing on a beach, calling for him to stay. And he ignores _her_, hands in his hair frenetically and eyes dark – trying not to look back.

"She's happy now, Logan. She's free."

His eye close, jaw tense, and he can't help himself but look back at her tiny frame – delicate and crumpling under bandages.

"Lucky her," his voice twists into something bitter.

She picks her feet up carefully, dragging through the sinking ground towards him and he credits himself for not running. He runs a tongue along the inside of his aching mouth, she bites her lip again. She has bitten nails and she never did before. But then he's pretty speechless and that's a novelty in itself. They have been changed and the first time that happened it allowed for them to be together (however temporarily) he doesn't know if this time reverts that or extends on it.

Her teeth press gently against her lip, she's so close now. He needs to back away but her fingers are covered in band-aids and they irritate his skin as she grazes fingers down his arm, it is supposed to be comforting. He finds no comfort watching Veronica Mars cry – he guesses that should make him angrier than it does. Relishing in her pain would have been a nice change from wallowing in his own.

She wants him to kiss her, and he wants to kiss her – but he's not going to. That would be too easy; after all she's already on her Act 3 breakdown. Her hand grasps at his arm a little harder as a sob breaks from her throat, he doesn't stop her but he doesn't touch her back. He sucks in a breath as she sways closer, all red eyes and choking lips, her face brushes against his chest and his whole body goes tense. Three minutes before a Scene 5 confession. Two minutes before she says she misses him.

He can't help swallowing as she presses her body against him. She doesn't say she misses him and maybe that's why he lets one hand push up the small of her back, awkwardly coaxing her to be quiet. She looks up at him, lungs still frothing.

Fuck her and her plot twists.

He is bent over her, her irregular breath fierce against his mouth. She wants him to kiss her but he won't. He won't and he bites his tongue as her hand creeps up his chest. It settled on his shoulder as she pulls herself onto her tip toes. Unlike his stilted movements she is fluid in motion and he doesn't have time to be bitter before her mouth presses over his.

He can taste salt, and if the clichés were working full force, desperation. But this isn't his movie, things never go his way and her tongue works its way past his lips as she presses closer, clinging to something that she never really had – his hands tighten on her. Part of him still wants Veronica Mars to have him, to make everything okay with warm hands.

She is pulling on his mouth, quick drags of his lips in a frantic fashion. Hot and damp between cracked lips, tear stained skin pressed against him. He clutches her hair and she doesn't slip through his fingers. One palm flattens against his neck, cushioning his pulse, the other tugs his hair, an arm around her waist forces her against him tighter.

She is kissing _him_ and maybe he will leave her on the sand with weak knees when she's finished. Or maybe she will just keep kissing him, and maybe she can make everything go away. And maybe they will find his mother. And maybe his father is an impostor. And maybe Veronica Mars will take him back. And maybe—

Act 3, Scene 6: "I miss you."

Her lips shutter closed and he starts to walk away.

"Logan!"

He only turns a fraction to reply, muttering through dizzy lips.

"She wouldn't want this; you seem _awfully_ interested in what she would want."

She doesn't call him back.

He doesn't pretend she does.


End file.
